‘MID the piteous heaps of dead
Goes one weary golden head
Tossing ever to and fro,
Calling loud and calling low.
Mother, mother, step so light,
Mother, lay your fingers white
On my forehead like a dew !
Mother, mother, where are you?
Still so loud he makes his cry
That the dying cannot die;
All the writhing field’s one groan
While he lies and cries alone.
But his mother’s far away;
Cannot hear him cry and say:
Mother, I am dying, come!
Mother, I am lost from home!
Mary, Mother of all men,
Come and comfort him in pain.
Take his young head to the breast
Where your Child and God had rest.
Mary, Mary, step so light.
Mary, lay your fingers white
On his forehead! He shall dream
That his mother comforts him.
Mary, Mother, croon him o’er
Lullabies you sang before!
Mary, ease him, crooning low,
In the way that mothers know!
(Katharine Tynan)
More Poetry from Katharine Tynan:
Katharine Tynan Poems based on Topics: Man, Death & Dying, Home, Light, Mothers, Pain- The Children of Lir (Katharine Tynan Poems)
- The Vision (Katharine Tynan Poems)
- The Legend of St. Austin and the Child (Katharine Tynan Poems)
- St. Francis and the Birds (Katharine Tynan Poems)
- The Convent Garden (Katharine Tynan Poems)
- Shamrock Song (Katharine Tynan Poems)